From the Ground Up
by One Small Monkey
Summary: Sort of filling in some gaps. This picks up a few days after Jake and Chance are kicked off the force. Please note that I recently got a gig as a writer. While ultracool, it does mean I may not update as often as I'd like to.
1. One

"Yessir...yessir...yessir, I _understand_ how important this aircraft is to you..." Chance pulled the phone away from his ear and stuck out his tongue in disgust. "Sir, Jake - Clawson 'n' me - we've only been here three days. We ain't even finished unpacking...no, sir, I'm not sayin' that's more important than your plane...it's just...sir, we don't know where everything is yet...yessir. As soon as felinely possible."

Chance hung up the phone and roared wordlessly at the ceiling. Jake entered from the kitchen.

"Soup's on. Was that Feral?"

"Yeah. He sends his love. Wants to know why his plane ain't fixed yet."

"Cause he blew it to bits when he messed up our shot."

"I know - you'd think he'd remember."

Jake smiled. "If we could fix a plane that fast, they couldn't pay us enough."

Chance rubbed his face. "You went over the figures. How long we gonna be stuck here in this dump?"

Jake's smile became crooked. "Um, a while." He started heading back to the kitchen. Chance followed.

"A little while or a long while?"

Jake stepped to the stove, lifting the lid on the soup pan. "Well, I wouldn't make any plans for the next...um...ever."

Jumping up on the counter, Chance growled, "Crud, Jake, is this legal?"

Jake stopped stirring the soup. "What?"

"This. Feral making us slaves."

Replacing the lid, Jake opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons. "You thought indentured servitude was a thing of the past?"

"If that's what I think it is, yeah, I did."

"Well, it would be, if you and me weren't Enforcers."

"We're not!"

Jake pointed a spoon at Chance. "Ah, but we were when this happened. So they can do pretty much as they see fit. Pretty much everything's legal in Enforcer-land."

Chance sighed. "Well, so much for our lives, then."

"Not so fast, buddy. There's still a way out for us. Bowls?"

Reaching behind him, Chance opened the cupboard and extracted two bowls. He handed them to Jake with a sidelong glance. "You ain't talkin' 'bout building our own plane again, are ya?"

"Sure. Why not? It'd be just like when we were kits."

Chance jumped off the counter. "Say what?"

Jake ladled out some soup for Chance. "You remember. When we built that scooter thing?"

"Oh, gimme a break."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, 'til it hit that building."

Jake handed the bowl to Chance with a far-off look in his eye. "Oh, yeah. That's when I learned to let you do the steering."

"Besides, Jake, that was a scooter - this is a plane!"

"Difference of degree."

"Heckuva degree!"

Taking his bowl, Jake followed Chance to the small rickety table. Jake set his bowl down, then grabbed a pad of paper from the counter.

"OK, let's work this out. How long does it take to fix each major component of a fighter?"

"I dunno." Chance suddenly snorted. "But I bet I'm gonna find out real quick."

"Well, then, guess." Jake started ticking them off on his fingers. "Each engine, each wing, weapons..."

"Heck, Jake, I dunno - a week each?"

"Forty kat-hours? Let's say fifty - be on the safe side."

"Whatever." Chance turned his attention back to his soup.

"All right. Fifty hours per section times..." Jake counted silently, then wrote on his pad.

"Don't forget the hull."

"I didn't. That gives us about a thousand kat-hours. If we each put in forty hours a week on it, that's...twelve and a half weeks. Three months and we have a plane." Jake put the pen down and picked up his spoon.

"Y'think we can put forty hours each on this?"

Jake peered over his spoon. "How bad you want to pilot again?"

Chance growled, "Bad enough. But listen. Lessay we build the durn thing. Where th'heck we gonna keep it? It's not somethin' we can shove behind the couch when we got company."

Jake paused, then waved his spoon. "Details."

"Details!"

"I'm not saying it's not a problem. I'm saying it's something we can work around. Look." Jake put his spoon down, and pointed at Chance. "The reason things like this don't get done is because kats get scared. They see these obstacles and think they can't do it. They aren't willing to roll up their sleeves and get the job done. Now, as I see it, we've got two options. We can rot away fixing cars and planes, or we build us a plane and show the Enforcers how it's done. Which of those you feel like?"

Chance put his spoon down, crossed his arms, and stared at Jake for a minute. Slowly, a smile crept over his face.

* * *

"Ack!"

Jake peered over a pile of car doors. "Buddy, what is it?"

"Nothin'."

"Oh." Jake grinned. "Bugs, huh?"

"Yeah, so what if it was?"

"Nothing. I just won't ever get why you're so scared of 'em."

"They just...weird me out."

"They scare you."

"Whatever." Chance brushed his hands off. "These are all car parts."

"Yeah, I noticed. It looks like all the plane parts are on the south side of the lot. I guess there's a method to this madness."

Jake and Chance began ambling towards that end.

Chance tried to pick some dirt out of his claws. "What kinda hull you hopin' to use?"

"Hoping? Any! Beggars can't be choosers. But if I had my pick..." Jake got a faraway look in his eye, and grinned. "A VT-40."

Chance grinned back. "You always liked those."

"Yeah. I always wanted a chance to mess around with the weapons systems on those. I don't know who designed the weapons layout on 'em, but I hope he got fired."

"You always said they were kinda confusin'."

"Confusing, nothing - they were just plain wrong, Chance!" They turned the corner around a stack of car bodies, and came to a halt. "Holy..."

Chance smirked. "Y'can say that again!"

In front of them lay a wall of metal shelving, piled high with plane hulls. Many were extremely rusty, with gaping holes, but others looked almost new.

"Looks like we get our pick," said Chance. "Any VT-40's up there?"

"Um..." Jake, shielding his eyes from the sun, scanned the stack. "Doesn't look like it."

"Figures."

"Well, they didn't make that many of them - and I think most of them are still in service..."

"Crud, Jake, look!" Chance pointed towards the top left side of the stack. "Ain't that a Looper?"

Jake scrutinized the hull. "Yep, sure is."

"That'd be perfect for us!"

"Aw, Chance, that's not a fighter plane. Besides, you know how the wiring on Loopers gets..."

Chance put his paw on his friend's shoulder. "That don't matter! We're gonna be wirin' it ourselves, remember?" Jake thought for a second, then gave a sideways shake of his head. Chance added, "B'sides, I'm gonna be the one who'll be flyin' 'er."

"All right - deal. Let's get the forklift."

Chance's war whoop was partially drowned out by the sound of a low-pitched horn. Jake and Chance glanced at each other, then collectively rolled their eyes. Resignedly, they headed back to the shop.

"Well, if it isn't Jerk and Fat Chance!" snickered Murray from his truck.

"Makin' fun of our names," Jake growled. "Haven't heard anyone do that since third grade. You got a delivery?"

"Nah, hotshots, I just stopped by to see yer pretty mugs. 'Course I got a delivery. Big one today. Should keep you hotshots grounded for a while." Jake snatched the clipboard from Murray's hands and scanned the list. "Looks like they dismantled some 4x4's at HQ - must have put 'em through the grinder. Someone messed up big time on maneuvers, and his VT-40 got pummeled. Heain't gonna be an Enforcer much longer, that's for sure..."

Jake shot a glance at Chance, then quickly looked away. Keeping his voice low, he muttered, "VT-40, huh?"

"Yep - not much left of it. Part it out."

"I haven't seen any VT-40 parts around. We probably could use 'em."

"Huh. If they're smart, they won't send no real planes around for you to do no work on."

"Just dump the stuff, nimrod, and save the big jokes for your girlfriend." Jake signed the paperwork, took his copy, and threw the clipboard back at Murray. They watched impatiently but silently as he unhitched the load.

"See ya, suckers!" Murray yelled, peeling out of the parking lot. Jake and Chance watched him leave, then slowly turned towards each other. They both were trying hard not to laugh.

"Yeah!" yelled Jake. He high-fived Chance, then pointed up at the sky and clicked his tongue. "Owe ya one."

* * *

The sun had already gone down when Chance arrived back from the emergency tow. He was mildly surprised to hear loud music playing in the garage. Walking in, he saw Jake, feet propped on the table, tapping on a legal pad in time to the song.

"Rock on!" roared Chance.

Jake almost dropped his pen in surprise. He turned around, smiled sheepishly at Chance, and pumped his hand in the air a few times.

"Whatcha up to?" asked Chance, as Jake turned the music down.

"Planning." Jake put his feet back on the floor. "I'm trying to figure out how to go about building this plane."

"I thought you said it was no problem."

"I didn't say it was no problem," countered Jake. "I just said we could overcome any problems that came up."

Chance sat down across from Jake. "So whatcha got so far?"

Jake held up the pad for Chance to see. "Big fat zero. This is tougher than I thought. I've never designed a plane before."

"Sure y'have."

"What? When?"

"In school. In your math notebook."

Jake looked confused, then embarrassed. "Aw, Chance, we were just kits back then. I was just...doodling."

"Yeah, so? It was pretty cool."

"Yeah, I guess it was. But that was...y'know..."

"Dreamin'?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Chance grinned. "Don't you want a chance to make your dream come true?"

Jake thought. "Yeah, I guess." He grinned back. "Well, I don't think I have that notebook anymore, so I'll have to go off memory. And there's probably things I would need to change anyway." Jake sat up straighter. "OK, so let's go over a list of must-haves here. The three things we need most in a fighter are speed, maneuverability and firepower. Right?"

"Sounds right to me."

"All right. The basic VT-40 was pretty quick and agile on its own."

"Could you kick it up some?"

Jake shrugged. "Well, yeah, I guess, but it's not like cranking a knob. There's a lot of work involved."

"Well, duh." Chance started bobbing his head in time to the song.

"How much firepower are we going to need?"

"Th'more th'better."

"Sure, all things being equal. But the more guns 'n' missiles we put on that thing, the heavier it'll get, and the slower it'll go."

Chance shrugged. "Compensate. More power in the engines."

Jake rolled his eyes. "I forgot. You flunked physics." He put the pad down. "Look, Chance, the heavier a plane is, the slower it's gonna move around. No matter how big an engine you put in there, you can't fight inertia. Now I don't want to go out there and try to show up the Enforcers in an old jalopy of a plane. We got the two best damn pilots in MegaKat City, and we're gonna have a plane to match."

Chance held up his paws. "Yes, sir!"

"All right, then. We get the best engines we can find out there that can be repaired, do what we can to 'em, and throw them on. After that, we toss on the best weapons we think we'll need. That'll keep us light enough to zip around."

"Hm." Chance thought for a second. "Couldn't you...snap the weapons in?"

"Snap the weapons in...what do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. Like...like those Robo-Klaws we had back when we were kits. Remember? You could take their arms out and put in guns 'n' stuff..."

"Yeah?"

"So couldn't you do that with the weapons? You know, snap out a machine gun, put in a flamethrower..."

"Chance, this isn't a toy."

"Sez you," retorted Chance, grinning.

Jake looked at him for a second, then smiled back. "You know, you're right."

"'f course."

"And you know, that's a great idea - making some weapons modular. Even if you didn't know what it was called."

"You're the smart one."

"Well, yeah, compared to you." Jake avoided the fist that Chance swung at him. "All right, then. First thing in the morning - we go look at engines."


	2. Chapter 2

Jake sat contemplating the plane for a few minutes.

"It's ready, Jake," said Chance.

Glancing over at Chance briefly, Jake turned back to the plane. "Maybe we should recheck the thrusters."

"We've checked them three times. You chickenin' out on me here?"

"Yeah."

Chance stopped dead. That wasn't what he was expecting to hear. "What?"

"It's...I dunno, buddy. It's one thing to say it'll fly. It's another to put your tail on the line and test it out." Jake shook his head. "Oh, I'll fly in the darn thing. I'm just wondering how stupid I am for doing it."

"At least as dumb as me. You ready?"

Jake shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He followed Chance out of the hangar, back to their rooms. Once Chance reached his room, he started taking off his T-shirt, then stopped. "Where you wanna take 'er?" he yelled out the door.

A few seconds later, he heard Jake yell back. "Somewhere where there aren't a lot of kats roaming around. How about...Chooser's Canyon?"

Chance grinned. "Just what I was thinking." He tossed his shirt aside and pulled out a pair of coveralls. After slipping them on and zipping them up, he opened a dresser drawer and began fishing around.

Jake stuck his head back into the room, adjusting his coveralls. "Let's just hope no Enforcers are hanging out there today."

"S'OK," said Chance. "Got it covered." Out of his dresser, he pulled out some black items. He handed one to Jake, who held it up without comprehension.

"What's this?"

By way of answer, Chance tied his over his head. Jake rolled his eyes.

"Chance, you can _not_ be serious."

"Why not? This way, even if the Enforcers're there, they won't know it's us."

"Chance, you read too many comic books."

"Do not. And they're graphic novels."

"Listen, Chance, I'm not putting on a mask. We're not playing around here."

"Speak for y'rself, Clawson." Chance grinned quickly, then tapped his claw on his dresser. "Look, there's a reason the good guys wear masks in those books. It's f'r exactly this reason - so they don't get recognized."

Jake held up the mask in disgust. "I don't believe it."

"No, it's true."

"I know it's true, Chance. I just don't believe that you're actually right about something." He smiled, then tied the mask around his head. He walked into the room and looked in the mirror Chance had above his dresser.

"See?" said Chance. "You look cool."

Jake shook his head. "I look like a raccoon." Resigned, he went on, "Well, as long as we're taking lessons from these...graphic novels of yours, we may as well go all the way. Anything else?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"Well, what else are we supposed to do? Aren't we supposed to get a butler named Albert or something?"

"Alfred," corrected Chance. "But we can't afford a butler." Chance paused and thought. "Oh, yeah. We might want to get new names."

"New names," repeated Jake.

"Yeah. 'Cause we're gonna be talkin' to each other on the radio, and if the Enforcers pick up on us calling each other 'Jake and Chance', we're cooked."

"Hm, good point." Jake grinned. "So who are we gonna be? Mister Wonderful and his sidekick Buddy?"

Chance shook his head. "Nah, I think I already got a name for you."

"What's that?"

"Remember back when we were kits? And we played Protectors?"

Jake sat down on Chance's bed and rubbed his eyes through the mask. "Are you going to bring up every single one of my embarrassing kithood memories?"

"Well, all the ones I can remember, anyway."

Sighing, Jake said, "Yeah, OK. We pretended we were superheroes like the Protectors. So?"

"So?" repeated Chance. "Remember your superhero name? The Razor?"

"Yeah." Jake shook his head. "Great name, huh?"

"Well, I thought it was cool. I still think it's cool. I say, use it again."

"Rrrright," said Jake cynically.

"No, I'm serious! You be Razor, and I'll be..." Chance trailed off.

Suddenly Jake laughed. "What? You don't want to use your Protectors name?"

"Well, it's not exactly fittin' anymore, is it?" growled Chance.

"C'mon. 'Razor and Speedy' has kind of a ring to it." Jake thought for a second, then said, "Hey, I know what would work."

"What?"

"Remember back when you worked at Pizza Pit?"

"Yeah," muttered Chance, "but I'm tryin' to forget."

"Well, remember what the boss kept calling you?"

"Yeah. T-Bone."

"Why not that?"

"Jake, he only called me T-Bone because he couldn't remember my name."

"So what? 'T-Bone and Razor' sounds cool, doesn't it?"

Chance frowned for a second, then nodded. "That'll work. At least it's not 'Speedy'."

"Done." Razor stood up and indicated the door. "After you, T-Bone."

T-Bone headed out the door, with Razor behind. Once in the hangar, they climbed into the cockpit of their recently completed plane. T-Bone paused before putting on his helmet. "Any words of wisdom before we put our lives on the line here?"

"Yeah," said Razor. "I say put the oxygen masks on now. I don't know how easy it'll be to put them on once we're airborne."

"Gotcha."

"Better do a radio test, too, before we get too deep." Razor put his helmet on, and waited for T-Bone to do the same. Once they were situated, Razor punched a few buttons. "Razor calling T-Bone. You read?" He waited for a few seconds until he saw T-Bone shake his head and point to his helmet. Razor pushed a few more buttons and tried again. "Razor calling T-Bone. You copy, T-Bone?"

"Yeah, copy now, Razor," he heard.

"Cool. You might want to crank the volume on these. Remember, I haven't finished soundproofing this wreck, and it's gonna get loud."

"Roger." T-Bone fiddled with his helmet a bit, then put his oxygen mask on. "OK. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," said Razor. He put his restraining belts on and nodded.

"Then let's light this firecracker." T-Bone pulled a handle to his side, and the cockpit closed with a somewhat louder-than-expected thump.

Razor closed his eyes and tried to keep from panicking. He saw T-Bone press a few more buttons, and he felt the thrusters behind him kick to life. Desperate to keep from obsessing, he stared at the control panel in front of him. A bewildering array of buttons, switches, and lights greeted his eyes. I probably should have labeled these, he thought. Never mind, I can remember. Let's see, he thought, touching the panel nearest his right paw. These buttons and switches control the main missile launchers. These ones to the left are for the machine guns. To the left of that...

Razor was suddenly thrust back into his seat, and he jerked his head up. T-Bone was building up speed. The piles of trash to the sides of the plane began blurring into indistinct blurs. Razor took a deep breath as he felt T-Bone tilt the plane up. The loud rumbling of the tires on the ground suddenly ceased, and the plane began its ascent. After a few seconds of smooth climbing, Razor let his breath out. He felt the tires retracting into the body, and suddenly felt his body go somewhat limp. He couldn't remember feeling so relieved.

"Yeah!" Razor screamed.

It was loud, but he heard T-Bone's voice click into his helmet. "Ha ha! What'd I tell you, buddy!"

"I didn't realize how bad I wanted to get back in the air," said Razor, loudly so that T-Bone could hear.

"Not as bad as me!" T-Bone began turning the plane to head south. "Next stop, Chooser's Canyon!"


End file.
